


The Double Plot

by loftyperch



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Slow Build, but not too slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29601024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loftyperch/pseuds/loftyperch
Summary: The Secret Avengers uncover a plot to assassinate Tony, and in order to save him, they have to kill him themselves.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 16
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, it's been like a year since I've been able to write a word, let's hope I'm not too rusty (or overambitious) and that this becomes something worth reading :D
> 
>  ~~(And btw, d'you think anyone will mind if this eventually becomes Bucky/Steve/Tony? I'm getting ahead of myself lol)~~ You've thoroughly convinced me to go straight WinterIron. It's a huge relief to have decided, so thank you for helping :D
> 
> lots more characters, and maybe more tags, to come

Natasha’s fingers shook at the keyboard as she made her first tentative attempts to breach the central Stark Industries server. She should have waited for help, but the matter was urgent (and none of the Secret Avengers were much better at hacking, anyway). Her pursuits were doomed from the start, and a warning began to flash on her monitor.

Just as she was about to retreat, though, a new message appeared.

//FRIDAY would like to access the microphone//

Taking the gamble, Tasha allowed it and donned her headset.

“Can you hear me, Fri?”

“Is that you, Miss Romanov? Are you trying to get our attention?”

“It’s me, and no I wasn’t _trying_ , but Fury just passed me a tip about a life model decoy, positioned high up at the company and programmed to kill Tony.”

There was a long pause while Friday calculated her response.

“Do you have a plan?” she finally asked.

“I’ve drawn out my fair share of moles before, but I’ll need access to detailed itineraries … and I’ll need you to keep some secrets from Tony for a while. Are you capable of that?”

Another long calculation.

“Yes. I think I can do that.”

\------------------

Tony knew something was wrong the moment he boarded the small private jet. He was meant to fly it alone, but an attendant - one he’d never met before - awaited him on board. He almost kicked her off, but a quick check of Friday’s records showed the change in plans had come directly from Pepper’s desk … and he had his suit packed if he needed to escape at cruising altitude.

However, when he’d switched to autopilot and let her bring him some coffee, he began to regret his decision.

“You seem familiar.” To be more specific, she looked like a stranger and _smelled_ like an old friend. “What’s your name?”

Her smile grew sad.

“Natalie Rushman.”

Tony recoiled, more in shock than fear. Tasha tugged the digital mask from her face and took the copilot’s seat.

“You’re not here to kill me are you?” he only half joked.

“Kind of.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t have time to explain much; the plane’s going to crash soon, we need -”

“ _Excuse me?!?_ ”

“- to fake your death.”

“Okay, not to sound like it’s not good to see you again, but no thanks, I’ll take my suit.”

“If the suit’s missing, no one will think you’re dead. Come on, I’ve already got the parachutes waiting in the cabin.”

“There has _got_ to be a better way to do this!”

Even as he protested, the autopilot took a nosedive, and the cold spikes of the Alps climbed into view.

“This is _Pepper’s_ plane, y’know!”

“Please don’t make us drag you out of here.” Tasha’s voice became an icy husk of itself.

“... Us?”

The cabin door burst off its hinges, a metal arm glinting in the gap that opened up.

“Are you kidding me?” For a painful moment, Tony thought he’d rather die as a smear on a mountainside than go _anywhere_ with the Winter Soldier.

Tasha didn’t give him the option though, yanking him from his seat and shoving him into a painful bearhug.

He kicked blindly, but she grabbed his legs (and her chute) as they forced him through the sharply tilted cabin. Then all he saw was a spin of sky and snowy rocks, all he heard was the roar of frozen winds. When Barnes’ chute caught them up, it snapped Tony’s head back against a solid metal shoulder.

In and out of consciousness, Tony lost track of minutes and hours. There was a rough landing, and his captors packed snow against his wound. A man’s voice told him over and over again, “I’m sorry.” It was still echoing in the backseat of whatever vehicle they’d found, a metal hand always touching him on the chest or arm. A small forest cabin loomed over him, swallowed him back into something like warmth, and still that voice and hand were there.

“I’m sorry.”

The hand that had murdered his mother.

\--------------------

Tony woke alone in a firelit room. His head throbbed, and he reached out for anything but emptiness. He found a bedside table and his phone upon it. He swiped at it, and it lit up. Plenty of service.

“Friday!” he rasped, so relieved that he didn’t even recognize what was too good to be true. “I need help.”

“I’m sorry boss, but we can’t talk. You’re supposed to be dead.”

The phone locked itself down, and Tony threw it against the opposite wall, glad to hear it shatter.

He had to get _out_ of there.

_You're supposed to be dead._

Something seemed to fall out from under his chest, leaving him gasping and feeling for his pulse.

_Supposed to be dead._

He hauled himself from the bed and heaved the window open. It was two stories up, but there was a pine bough near enough to catch and slow his fall. He hadn’t even stopped to look for his shoes and set off, barefoot, into the woods.

They found him within minutes, Barnes sprinting through the knee-deep snow to cut him off and herd him back toward Natasha, who’d brought boots and a coat. He fought them every step of the way, but he didn’t have the strength or the wherewithal to do a damn thing against them.

\--------------------

The next morning, Tony wasn’t alone when he woke.

The Soldier stood by the door, his eyes on the window.

Tony rolled over and groaned, fingers longing for another phone to throw. The searing pain in his head was more localized now, relegated to the wound itself, and thoughts could come and go with greater clarity.

“I hate you so much,” he seethed, somewhat gratified when Barnes turned his gaze to the floor in apparent shame. He was even more gratified when Barnes left and was replaced by a (nominally) friendlier face.

Tasha came bearing water and a sandwich, which were grudgingly welcome.

“The good news is that the plan is working so far.” Her feigned optimism was fooling no one.

“You call this _working_?”

“We didn’t mean for you to get hurt.” She winced. “How are you feeling?”

“Extremely retraumatized. Like, on a lot of levels.”

“Well, according to Fury, there’s an _actual_ plot to assassinate you going on, so I’m sorry, but I’d rather have you alive and fucked up than dead and doing great in therapy.”

He glared, but eventually relented with a sigh.

“Just tell me you’re not going to leave me here with _him_.”

“We’re short-staffed, Tony; it’s either him or Steve.”

He threw up his hands.

“I actually died on that plane. This is clearly Hell.”

Tasha stayed for another hour or so, though they spoke no more. She crawled into bed with him, and they commiserated over all that they’d lost in the last horrifying year, arms around each other’s shoulders, temples pressed together. When, at last, she had to leave, she kissed his forehead and he squeezed her hand.

“I’ll check in as soon as I can.”

“Be careful.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony calls a truce.

With nothing to do and no one worth talking to, Tony did the only thing he could think of. He ripped the small flatscreen tv off the wall and tore it apart. He likewise scrapped his treacherous phone and the hairdryer from his bathroom.

Barnes brought him some dinner as the sun went down, briefly surveyed the controlled chaos of the impromptu workshop, and left. Tony refused to look up.

But there was another knock at the door, only moments later, and it opened just enough for a small toolbox to slide in.

Tony’s gut reaction was gratitude, though it lasted barely a second. Only pure necessity drove him to scooch across the carpet and inspect the box’s contents. While most of the tools were too big for his needs, designed for household projects, a few of the screwdrivers would do, some of the pliers as well … and the gratitude crept guiltily back.

\--------------------

The morning brought another gift.

Tony awoke on the floor, hungry from spitefully ignoring his dinner, and instinctively went to the door in search of food. Halfway there, he remembered that he was a prisoner, and he hesitated for a long moment. The door had never properly shut after the toolbox delivery, and no one had told him he _had_ to stay in his room, so he peeked out into the hallway.

Stacked neatly, beneath a still-hot breakfast burrito, were two tvs, a stereo, and a microwave, scavenged from other rooms.

“Dammit,” he muttered, tempted to slam the door and forgo another meal, but knowing what he _had_ to do (and how much it would pain him).

He went slowly down the hall, to the top of the stairs, then descended to the little living room before he found the Soldier.

Barnes was coming back from the kitchen with a burrito of his own and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Uh, thank you. For the stuff.” Tony was already turning to go.

“Do you want more? I wasn’t sure what you needed …” Barnes trailed off as if embarrassed, took a half step back into the kitchen.

“Can I look around and see what we’ve got?”

“Sure, as long as you don’t leave the house. No one’s given up looking for you yet, so they’ve probably got satellites sweeping the region.”

“Easy enough.”

\------------------

A few hours later, Tony was in the coat closet looking for wire hangers when a sharp knock at the front door nearly gave him a heart attack.

He answered, expecting Natasha, and scowled to find Wanda instead.

“Hi, kid. Glad to see you’re cool with grounding people now.”

“Glad to hear you tried to escape,” she met him snark-for-snark and gestured to the truck in the driveway. “I brought supplies.” She seemed quite ready to turn and leave it at that, but changed her mind at the last moment and leaned in to whisper, “Are you okay here ... with him?”

“He keeps to himself.” Tony shrugged. _And still a better option than Steve._

“It could be another week,” she warned. “Widow and Friday have narrowed it down to five suspects, but that’s still a lot of people to surveil.”

“I’ll make it,” he said, resignedly reassuring. “And I _am_ glad that the Secret Avengers have gone to such trouble to protect me. Thank you.”

Somewhat satisfied, Wanda nodded her farewell. “I’ll drop the stuff in the garage.”

“Hey,” he called when she reached the truck, “Vision misses you like crazy.”

Blushing, she threw him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen on her.

\------------------

Among the things Wanda brought were fresh clothes, lots of frozen dinners, and an enormous crate of discarded parts and broken weaponry for Tony to play with.

With a sigh, he read the note from Tasha he found at the bottom of the motley collection; “Bucky said you could use these :)”

No longer able to reconcile the hatred in his heart with its (apparently very) kind and conscientious target, he closed the crate and took the suitcases into the main house.

Barnes had put a lasagna in the oven, and they went to their respective rooms for a welcome shower and change while it cooked. They took a break from scavenging to eat, technically together, though at opposite ends of the living room. The whole while, Tony was watching his enigmatic companion closely. Before they could go their separate ways again, Tony motioned for Barnes to stay and opened the little liquor cabinet in the corner.

“Look, I know you didn’t _want_ to kill them,” he said, back turned as he poured two drinks. “I know you’re sorry.”

The Soldier accepted the proffered scotch warily, still avoiding eye contact.

“So, I guess … I’m sorry, too.” Tony clinked their glasses, shocked at how much better _he_ felt after saying it, never mind how it might have made Bucky feel. “I wasn’t thinking clearly and shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you.”

They threw back their drinks, and something in the air changed perceptibly. Their eyes could meet, and they both came dangerously close to smiling in relief and understanding.

“I know why you did,” said Bucky at last. “And, for what it’s worth, I’m on your side about, y’know, what Steve did.”

“That’s actually worth a lot to me.”

“He should have told you. Nat should have, too. If you’d known more ahead of time, if you hadn’t felt so betrayed in the moment, maybe you wouldn’t have tried to kill me.”

Tony smirked. “If I’d been trying to _kill_ you, I would have succeeded.”

They took their conversation into the basement, a much more appropriate place for Tony to set up shop, and began rearranging the furniture.

“Nah, I’d just seen most of my friends injured and wrongly imprisoned, so I wanted to put someone through the same thing. I was just going to beat you up and throw you on the Raft.”

“Well I still feel justified in defending myself, then.”

“As you should. Nice arm, by the way … Wakandan?”

“Not sure if I’m allowed to answer that,” said Bucky, answering quite clearly.

They worked late into the evening, stopping to eat only after everything was in place, all the clutter removed, and all the scraps and tools neatly laid out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one thinks these living arrangements are a good idea.

Tasha and Rhodey huddled in the faint glow of her phone, surrounded by the deep shadows of the not-quite-rebuilt-yet Malibu mansion.

“Hey, Bucky, good news! Rhodey’s off the list,” she cheered when he picked up.

“Is he with you, should I put Tony on speaker?”

“Yes, and yes, and isn’t it nice that you two are getting along so well?” She grinned at Rhodey, who answered with more of a grimace.

“We’re managing,” said Tony, dryly. “Sorry if you were desperately grieving for me all this time, Rhodes.”

“Nah, I was worried for a few hours, but then we couldn’t find any remains and there were two missing parachutes. Some people are starting to think you’ve succumbed to the elements by now, but I was gonna give it at least a week before I worried about _that_.”

“So now I assume you’ll be steering search and rescue _away_ from me?”

“And trying to secure your suits. Can I stash them in Malibu?”

“Perfect. Where’s the one from the plane?”

“Still at a warehouse in Switzerland with the recovered wreckage.”

“Good, try to keep it there, just in case I need it.”

“There is one big problem, though,” Tasha interjected, prompting Rhodey to elaborate.

“It’s Vision. He’s getting extremely frustrated that no one’s found you yet. Pretty soon he’s either going to figure out Friday’s part in all this or he’s going to go look for you himself … either way … I mean, I’m a by-the-book kind of guy, but Vision _is_ the book. Can he even keep these kinds of secrets?”

“Oh that’s easy,” said Tony dismissively, “if you can get Wanda back here to intercept him, of course. He’ll do _anything_ for her, and we could even pass it off as her kidnapping him or something.”

“She’ll love that plan,” Tasha agreed.

“The _actual_ big problem is that I don’t know what to do with all these lovely scraps you sent. What, in your professional opinion, should I be getting ready for?”

There was a pause while everyone gave it some consideration.

At last, Rhodey suggested, “Once we have our mark, you can contact them with your location. My guess is that they won’t tell anyone else you’re alive and will simply show up to finish the job, right?”

“Meanwhile the Secret Avengers set up an ambush, and I go full Straw Dogs on the house?”

“I was gonna say Scooby Doo, but yeah.”

With plans in place and warm, fuzzy feelings of hope all around, they said their goodbyes and hung up.

“Are you sure it’s such a good idea, leaving them alone together?” Rhodey asked as Tasha helped him up from where they’d been crouched.

“Bucky won’t hurt him, I promise.”

“It’s _Bucky_ ’s safety I’m concerned about. You know Tony; he takes leaps, not steps. He might be fine being around Bucky for now, but something’s bound to trigger him, and …” Rhodey trailed off with a sad, helpless gesture.

“Well, Sam’s checking on them tomorrow, and you can tell Vision that Wanda was spotted in London. He should find that sufficiently worth investigating, and I’ll tell her to let him in the loop. If Tony thinks he can handle it, then so do I.”

“Y’know, for a spy, you put a lot of trust in a lot of people.”

“I might be a spy, but I still like to think we’re all Avengers, too.”

With a hug, they slipped out of the construction site.

\-------------

Sam knocked, loudly, for the third time, and still there was no answer. Starting to worry, he ran back to the truck for the spare key.

Inside, the house was cold and dark. There were boxes everywhere, several pieces of furniture and appliances torn apart and strewn about. He shouted, but no one shouted back. _Really_ starting to worry, he drew his sidearm. As he crept along, he began to make out a faint, rhythmic clang coming through the floor. He didn’t _quite_ kick the basement door open, but he entered so abruptly (and so gun-first) that both occupants jumped.

Bucky rolled his eyes when he’d recovered his composure. “Dude, you could have called me.” 

“ _What the hell have you done to the place?_ ”

“Well, in order to properly fortify the house I’ll be needing a forge … of sorts.” Tony, rather proudly, indicated his hasty rebuild of the oil furnace, “So, since there’s no heat upstairs, we kinda gave up on it. Don’t worry, I’ll reimburse whoever’s pissed off about it.”

“So you’re both sleeping down here, too?” Sam’s voice cracked when he tried too hard to make the question casual. He raised an eyebrow at the two mattresses tucked into two corners. “And everybody’s cool with that?”

Tony shrugged and went back to shaping a long strip of metal into a wicked spike. “Sure, it breaks my heart all over again every time I look at him, but to be honest, a _lot_ of stuff does that nowadays. So whatever.”

With a sigh and a shrug of his own, Bucky went upstairs with Sam to get the delivery.

“Look, Barnes, I’m not here to judge your methods of guarding someone … but he’s totally going to put that spike in your neck before the end of the week.”

“I _highly_ doubt that's his style.”

“And doesn’t it kinda break your heart to look at him, too?”

“Of course it does; it’s torture. It’s also a mission … And isn't it a little naïve of you to think that separate bedrooms would prevent him from murdering me?”

“Point taken.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, knowing they had a new, powerful ally between them and the satellites, Tony and Bucky risked a quick walk of the grounds.

“Okay, so we set the trip wire across the driveway there and the mines _there_.” Tony scribbled in a small notebook where he’d sketched a rough map. “We’ll give them a … three second delay, and the spike strips can go a bit closer to the house …” He led them around to the back. “It’s supposed to snow soon, so now’s the time to get the stakes in the ground in case anyone comes on foot. Not sure if I have the time or materials to make enough for the whole yard -”

“I can cut a bunch of wooden ones for you.”

“Awesome.” Tony made a note. “We can barricade those windows, trap _those_ windows, rig the balcony to collapse …”

They took a turn into the woods, marking a few likely trees in which to place the cameras Tony had requested. On the way back they gathered all the sticks they could find; even the ones too small to be stakes could be used elsewhere for camouflage.

At one point, Tony yanked on the wrong branch, and nearly a treeful of snow came crashing down around him. Overtaken by bodyguard reflexes, Bucky leapt to push Tony out of the way and only succeeded in sharing his cold, wet fate. They both laughed, then looked away as if they’d done something wrong. 

Tony got over it first and smiled again, fighting to his feet and shaking out the snow that had gone down the back of his coat. Bucky remained despondent.

“What is it?” Tony asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew; he’d seen the same look on Steve’s face many times.

Bucky shook his head. “I shouldn’t … you shouldn’t have to hear it.”

“I reminded you of my dad, didn’t I?” Tony knew he didn’t owe the instrument of his parents’ deaths any sympathy. It hurt that he felt it anyway, mixed in with all the grief and anger. “We’ve got nothing but negative associations between us, despite not really knowing each other, like, _at all_. Those will always be there, but maybe we can offset them by creating some positive associations.”

Bucky raised his eyes, curious enough to stop looking so guilt-ridden for a moment.

“So let’s get the stakes in the ground, then we’ll, I don’t know, watch a movie or something?”

“Well, I guess it can’t make things any worse.”

\-----------------------

Bucky perched on the couch, unsure what to do while Tony puttered about, hooking a decommissioned laptop to the house’s one surviving tv. They’d built a fire for a bit of heat (though the basement had grown so hot and stuffy that the relative chill of the living room was rather welcome) and baked a pizza. Beyond the window, snow fell in thick clumps. 

Other than a stray ‘here’ or ‘thanks’ they hadn’t really spoken again all day. When Tony finally had the hardware set up and inquired about what they should watch, his voice sounded strange in the air.

“Do you have any preference? I can bootleg almost anything you want.”

“I haven’t seen many movies.”

“Not into them? Should we do something else?”

“No, I liked them. Before the war. But I’ve only been away from Hydra for a couple years, and enjoying anything since then has felt kind of … frivolous, I guess.”

“Well, right now it counts as therapy or something. I prescribe a comedy with neither violence nor dead parents …” Tony typed for a moment, then rose to get the pizza. By the time it was sliced, the download was complete.

“What did you pick?” asked Bucky as Tony pressed play.

“ _The Birdcage_. It’s a classic 90’s remake of a French adaptation of a play from the 70’s … and it’s about a gay couple … is that going to bug you?”

“Not at all.”

“Excellent. Now I think it goes without saying that Hollywood leans into a lot of harmful stereotypes, and this movie has become _very_ dated over the years, so don’t use it as a guide to modern parlance or anything.”

Bucky nodded. “I wouldn’t mind watching some _good_ examples of ‘modern parlance’ eventually, but I’ll try my best not to learn anything tonight.”

“Gotta watch sitcoms for that. Things that come out weekly have a better sense of what’s current.” Tony poured himself a very large scotch and took a seat on the floor, back against the couch. The opening credits were coming to a close, so they fell silent to watch. And for the next two hours they simply laughed. 

There were only a few moments when Tony regretted his choice of entertainment. He already knew to brace himself for the envy-inducing depiction of a loving father-son relationship, but he was unprepared for his reaction to the theme of subsuming one’s identity. Did that bother Bucky, he wondered, watching people have to erase every facet of their personalities in order to placate their antagonist? And, of course, following the wave of concern came the wave of self-reproach. How dare he have compassion for the Winter Soldier? 

_But that’s exactly what I’m trying to achieve here, isn’t it?_ He poured another drink to help him through the third act.

“So what’d you think?” he asked when it was over, turning to look up at Bucky.

“That was really sweet. And it _was_ nice to just enjoy something for a while. Thank you.”

Tony was just tipsy enough to let a few thoughts surface, judgement free for once. _I don’t hate _him_ … I hate what happened. And it happened to _both_ of us._ Giving in to an aching lower back, he moved to sit on the couch. _He has a really nice smile._

“Is it okay if I get a closer look at your new arm?” He knew it was intrusive enough to jeopardize the tenuous moment of happiness and was relieved when Bucky’s expression didn’t waver.

“Sure.” He rolled up his sleeve and presented a splayed hand, palm up.

“It’s so different,” said Tony as he gently pushed and pulled the arm, testing the exquisitely lifelike joints of the wrist and elbow. It was a deep, iridescent gray, chased with gold, the flicker of firelight dancing up its subtle curves and catching in the grooves where vibranium plates met. “It’s better somehow. Like I know you didn’t _technically_ use the old one to … do it … but it was symbolic, y’know?”

“It was … I think it was a lot more than symbolic, too.”

Tony looked up, interested, from his thorough exploration of Bucky’s fingers.

“I was able to break through my conditioning, but it was difficult. The Winter Soldier was always there in the back of my mind, trying to tell me what to do. When you destroyed the old arm, everything got _so much_ easier. Maybe that was just psychosomatic, but, when they pulled out what was left of my shoulder, they did find wires going to my brain ... So you might not have been trying to kill _me_ , but you kind of _did_ kill him.”

This revelation brought Tony a great deal of comfort. It was a small, delayed vengeance, but it was vengeance nonetheless. With some embarrassment, he realized he’d dropped his forehead to vibranium knuckles, clutching the new arm with a grip that would have bruised real flesh.

“Sorry,” he pulled away, and lightened his touch, but didn’t completely let go yet. “Thank you for telling me that.”

“Thank you for saving me.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky doesn't understand that reference, lol.

Tony didn’t sleep well that night, plagued by dreams of everyone hating him for _not_ hating Bucky. In the light of day though, staring across the basement at his peacefully snoring fellow victim, he was able to cut himself a little slack. So what if his feelings were evolving? So what if he was learning to see something besides the past when he looked at Bucky?

_But it’s more than that now ..._

The treacherous doubts trailed up the stairs with him, crowded around while he waited for the coffee to brew.

_You’re trying to be his _friend_. It’s just plain wrong, and it’s not going to help either of you._

“We could both use a friend,” he told his empty mug.

_You think he’s hot. That’s wrong _and_ gross._

“It’s really not. And I don’t.”

_Do I?_

“Are you okay?” interrupted Bucky from the doorway.

“I _don’t_! I mean I’m fine. Gotta shower.”

_Nailed it._

\--------------------------

“Hey, Nat,” cried Bucky, snatching up his phone almost desperately after the first ring.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know! I thought we were getting along pretty well, all things considered, but he’s been avoiding me all morning. I shouldn’t have told him about the wires, he probably thinks I was just making excuses -”

“Trust me, it’s nothing _you_ did.”

“What makes you so sure?” He grunted as he shoved an upended bureau in front of one of the second-floor windows.

“If you were getting along, then he’s probably feeling guilty about it. Just give him some space; he won’t try to run away now that he has a project to work on.”

“Speaking of which, we’ll need to get attacked by at least fifty people for all this preparation to be worth it.”

“Well, Friday’s finally decrypted a communique going from the mole to the Eastern European arm of the Ten Rings, so fifty is within the realm of possibility. We think they’re already on their way to the region to do a little ‘search and rescue’ of their own.”

“Know who it is yet?”

“Unfortunately, it’s down to Pepper or Happy. Both have visited hospitals with LMD labs within the past year, the appointments made well in advance. Perfect opportunities to make a switch. I managed to sneak some hair samples, and tomorrow night I’ll have access to a lab to test them. Wanda and Vision have started scouting known Ten Rings sites for any sign of the real Pepper or Happy.”

“Tony’s not going to like any of that,” sighed Bucky.

“You don’t have to tell him yet. I mean, don’t make him worry till we know for sure which one, right?”

“Is that what you and Steve told yourselves after you found all that Hydra intel?”

“Bucky,” she growled.

“Call us back when you know for sure.” Hanging up on her was inordinately satisfying.

\---------------------------

Tony listened blankly to the news, relayed dispassionately from the top of the basement stairs, then abandoned the forge in search of a drink. He rushed past Bucky, pulled a bottle of rum from the liquor cabinet, and flopped onto the couch. Bucky followed, watching him, then went to the kitchen, returning with a glass and some ice.

“Are you only nice to me ‘cause of what you did?” Though angry, Tony accepted the glass (and filled it). “Is it nothing but pity?”

Bucky looked wounded and shook his head, and Tony immediately felt bad for asking such a thing.

“Sorry, I …”

“I know.” Bucky went to his knees beside the couch, fists clenched in his lap. “There _is_ an element of pity; you’ve suffered, and I can’t pretend not to care about suffering people. There’s an element of gratitude as well; I owe you my sanity. But what I feel most is camaraderie. Even if we’d been total strangers a few days ago, we’d still be in this fight together, and I’d still be in genuine awe of your ability to turn an entire house into a weapon.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you ... You’re a good assistant.” Tony set the rum aside, suddenly sick of it. “But you’re better off not being my friend. Obviously, I can’t even protect the few I’ve got.”

“I couldn’t protect Steve from every bully, and he couldn’t protect me from Hydra. Pepper and Happy can’t protect you from alien armies … all we can do is try.”

“I should be out there looking for them.”

“No.” The vibranium hand shot to Tony’s knee, applying a warning pressure. “If you were killed or captured while attacking the Ten Rings, if you so much as try to call your armor too early, then not only would our mission fail, we might never get solid evidence of the conspiracy.”

Defeated, Tony returned to his rum. “It’s been a rough few days, being stuck with you,” he admitted, “but right now, I’m really glad you’re here.” In the light of a more urgent, more _real_ worry, Bucky’s chiseled jaw and soulful eyes were barely annoyances, his connections to long-ago tragedies merely an afterthought.

“I figure we’ve got about three hours before Sam shows up with the cameras and mines, then another nine hours, give or take, until Nat has proof that she’s even pursuing the right leads. We know enemy combatants are probably capable of striking _well_ before then if they find us at random, so … speaking as the person tasked with keeping you alive, I recommend we get back to work.”

Tony took one last defiant sip of his drink, then heaved himself to standing, Bucky's hand sliding trustingly away.

“Let’s do it, Furiosa.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected guest.

When it got to be four hours and Sam still hadn’t arrived, Tony and Bucky paused their work in the downstairs office to linger worriedly at the windows. Just as the sky was beginning to darken, and they were about to start making phone calls, they heard the sound of tires crunching up the partially shoveled driveway, and headlights glittered through the trees. Relieved, Tony knelt to keep pushing nails through the lovely antique rug. Bucky kept watching the truck, frowning.

“What is it?” Tony asked, not seeing but sensing Bucky’s concern.

“He’s got somebody with him …”

Tony peeked over the windowsill at the two figures climbing out of the truck, then bolted for the door, already shouting.

“ _Peter_? What the hell are you doing here?! Sam, what is he doing here?” 

The front porch had been completely destabilized (and studded with kitchen knives), so Tony had to stand there, fuming in the doorway, rather than storm down the walkway as he would have liked.

“There have been some developments,” sighed Sam. “We needed another set of eyes.”

“Hi, Mr. Stark,” said Peter, only a bit terrified, finding his way delicately through the snow. “I know I shouldn’t be here, but, in my defense, when the Black Widow asks a favor, you ask how high.”

Tony couldn’t refute that slightly garbled logic, so he growled and motioned for both guests to come in through the garage, which led directly to the office.

“As Nat was _going_ to tell you, before Bucky hung up on her,” Sam explained, skirting the edges of the nail-studded carpet, “Happy took an unannounced trip to Berlin, supposedly to wind down the search. We were already stretched thin, and now we’ve found _both_ Pepper and Happy, right under our noses.”

“Both of them?” Tony led them into the living room, as yet the least dangerous spot in the house. He wasn’t sure what he was angrier about. Peter’s continued involvement in the deadlier missions or Pepper and Happy’s.

“Friday sifted through a year’s worth of records, and it turns out they never even left the hospitals. They’re being kept comatose and relatively unguarded, Pepper in London, Happy in Boston. We think the larger plan here was to kill you and then swap the real ones back right away …”

“They’d wake up to be accused of a murder they didn’t remember …” Tony continued the thought.

“They might even believe they’d done it,” Bucky concluded, the full weight of the plot’s _cruelty_ in his voice.

Tony shuddered. “So we don’t have to wait for the lab results?”

“Already got ‘em.” Peter beamed. “Ned snuck Miss Widow into the AP Bio lab after she got me on the plane. Friday called with her news while the gel was running.”

“The trouble is,” Sam cut back in (as if there was only _one_ trouble), “now that we have to spring two originals, on two sides of the Atlantic, there’s no one left to come help you here.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, now that we’ve got Pete.” Tony ran back to the office for his notebook then gathered everyone around the couch. “Where _exactly_ is my armor being stored?”

\-----------------

The intricate planning took every spare moment before Sam had to leave to catch his flight to Boston. He took Peter with him, and everyone’s good-byes were cut short.

“So that kid is …?” asked Bucky as they waved from the garage, the latest (and largest) delivery piled behind them.

“Spider-Man.”

“But he’s so tiny.”

“I imagine he looks a lot more intimidating when he’s kicking your ass.” Tony gave Bucky a nudge with his elbow to show he was just teasing. It felt good to be back in a teasing mood. The last four hours had been an absolute wasteland of uncertainty, but now they had a _final_ plan, no more guessing. Pepper and Happy were physically safe and relatively unguarded, and in five more hours, he’d have his armor back.

Things actually seemed to be looking pretty good.

Bucky seemed pensive, but that wasn’t unusual. He gave half a smile and turned to unpack all the new stuff.

There were three wireless cameras and a _good_ laptop, two small explosives, a roll of razor wire, boxes of nails and screws, nylon rope, another day or two of food, and some more clothes (they’d immediately regretted tearing up the washing machine and dryer, but sacrifices had to be made).

There was still much to do, so they silently set about doing it.

\----------------------

Peter returned right on time, bearing a duffel bag of armor and crawling through the attic window they’d left open for him. He couldn’t stay, though, just dropping it off before catching his train to Berlin.

Tony retrieved it from the attic and laid it out carefully in the basement. Suddenly feeling much safer, he caught a shower and a nap while Bucky finished the last few preparations. He rose at about three in the morning, to one of the alarms they’d set. Sam must be just touching down at Logan. He could be meeting Vision at the hospital within the hour to spring Happy. Steve and Wanda were already waiting in London to make a simultaneous snatch-and-grab. This would _work_. It had to.

Bucky descended the stairs, hair wet from his own shower, armed with two coffees. The caffeine helped, but the tension of knowing how quickly events would need to proceed, across four cities in three countries, was what _really_ fueled their alertness.

“You don’t have to stay,” Tony offered after a few sips. “As soon as they’re safe I’ll divulge our location, then I just need help getting the armor on ‘cause Peter had to disable all the transponders, but after -”

“I’m not leaving you,” Bucky dismissed the idea out of hand. “Certainly not _now_ that we’ve run out of traps to set and could maybe watch another movie.” He used his coffee to gesture toward the tv he’d brought down from the living room while Tony was sleeping.

“Did you have something in mind?”

In fact he did; _Fantasia_ was downloaded and ready to go. Due to plug-and-outlet constraints, the only good view was from Bucky’s bed, so they squeezed onto the mattress, their backs against the wall. If Tony’s thoughts hadn’t been elsewhere, he’d have been more reluctant to press his shoulder against Bucky’s new arm, to be so close and _intimate_ , but as it was he hardly noticed.

He noticed instantly, though, when Bucky showed signs of distress as the movie progressed.

“You okay?” he asked, unsure if asking would help or hurt.

“Yeah, it’s just … sad, I guess. I liked this _so_ much … back when what I liked mattered.”

“It still matters.” Tony shifted around as best he could in the narrow space to reach a hand out and touch the back of Bucky’s lowered head. He stroked the still damp hair gently, almost unconsciously. “Believe me, I know that the aftermath of great tragedy makes it seem like _nothing_ matters … but it does. _You_ matter ... to Steve, to Sam, to Tasha, to Wanda … to me.”

Bucky said nothing, still so weak from grief that he let himself be rearranged on the bed. At a light push, he scooched down, at a pull he rested his head on Tony’s knee. This gave them both more room to stretch out, and gave Tony’s hands full access to Bucky’s hair, which he continued petting.

“You don’t have to …”

“I don’t mind.” Tony smiled, though Bucky couldn’t see. “It’s nice … like having a cat in my lap.”

Bucky huffed something like a laugh, then he finally relaxed.


End file.
